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2013-11-26 - SDR: No Need For Bondage Kree
The labs were, even this late at night, bustling with activity on the SHIELD helicarrier. The mutant boy, Ace, had been sedated and taken into what Agents Ward and Romanov termed 'protective custody'. He was back in a private room in the medlab, with the nurses and doctors alreayd monitoring his vitals, drawing blood, and studying the effects of the drug on a mutant. America had been escorted to the medlab as well-- much more politely, of course, but the Deputy Director was just as insistent. And it was Natasha that was leaning against the door of the lab room that America had been assigned, watching with irritation as the nurse tries with a seventh needle to draw blood from the young woman, and breaks the needle again. The Deputy Director of SHIELD mutters what can only be curses in Russian, rubbing her temples. Being in a place like this had America tense, unsettled, unnerved. It wasn't so long ago when she and her teammates were considered, if not outlaws, individuals that the 'adults' had to take in 'for their own good.' It was reminding her a bit too much of it though she knew for a fact that Mother wasn't here trying to eat her soul. Or power, or whatever it was she ate which ended up into that sad state of eventually not living. Annoyed as she may be at being dragged in for testing, by now she was becoming bored. Her arm is stretched out so that the woman can attempt to take the samples while she rests her chin in the hand of her other arm with her elbow propped up on the little counter table. At Natasha's muttering her gaze swivels over to the woman with eyebrows lifting. "Told you it'd be a waste of time, chica. So if you don't mind, I think I'd like to just go home at this point." "Is there something particular we need to do in order to get a blood sample?" Natasha asks dryly. She does not look interested in having America leave just yet. "And are you feeling strange at all-- dizzy, weaker, nauseated?" A wail can be heard from a few doors down-- probably the mutant kid, waking up on a helicarrier being poked and prodded by strange doctors. If the sound unnerves Romanov at all, it's not apparent, if anything, she seems to be quite good at ignoring the cries of others' anguish. She uncrosses her arms and stands up straight. "This substance is very dangerous, and we are just concerned about the potential effects." "Didn't stop you from going to New Orleans," America shoots back at Natasha with a scowl of annoyance. When the nurse tries for a thicker gauge needle she just sits up and holds a hand up at the woman. "You're more at risk trying to stick me with that thing than I am. Give it up." She slides out of the chair landing on her feet to start walking toward the exam table where she'd dropped her hoodie. It's snatched up just in time for her head to snap toward the door with a scowl at the screams from the other room. "That's it. Get out of my way, I'm leaving." Romanov's face is ice and stone. "I am a fully trained field operative, Miss America. Regardless of the substance's effect on me, my time in New Orleans had minimal risk." Her eyes narrow. "And the effect has since passed. Take a seat. We need that sample." "Ah huh." America swings her hoodie on, tugging it into place while Natasha talks. "The hell do you think I do at the Academy, Natasha? Seriously. Look who I hang out with. You think I'm any less capable of taking care of myself? And I told you already--" she adds while pulling out her Starkphone to start texting on it idly. "--You aren't going to be able to get a sample." Looking up again she shoots a glare at Natasha. "I'm being nice. I can and will leave. Don't make it get messy." Natasha stares her down. "I'm not asking because I want to see you bleed. I am telling you, for the benefit of those people down there that may be made ill by this, sit down, and if you are aware of a better way to take a sample, tell us." She doesn't move from the doorway, and she doesn't flinch. "What part of 'Oh gee we just broke over seven or eight needles trying to get through her skin' doesn't register with you, Natasha?" America stuffs her phone back into her pocket after texting Stark in her annoyance, and she turns to glare at the woman. Her teeth grit and she utters a few choice swears in spanish before just shaking her head. "So done with this." There's no more argument, no more trying to convince her, no more... No More America Chavez. Miss America lifts her head, and rolls the sleeves of her hoodie back up her arms revealing the star tattoos on the inside of each wrist. Without a word she snaps her arms out to the sides upraised as her eyes suddenly ignite with a white inner light. So too do the stars tattooed on her skin as they glow bright. Everything, every star, catches the luminisence that eminates from America. The star on her shirt, the little stars on her converse sneakers, even the single star necklace she wore tucked away beneath her shirt. All it took was a bit of reaching with her power, and then... Miss America was full of stars. Brighter than the neon lights overhead the ground beneath her feet erupts with the same searing white light in the form of a five point star. Only then do her arms lower back to her side with her weight shifting to one foot to draw a leg up so her heel can smash down into it. Something shatters. Something deeper than reality tinkles and cracks and smashes into uncountable peices though it's a sound more felt down the spine than heard as she breaks through the dimensional barrier. "What in the hell do you think you are doing?" Natasha barks. The nurse lets out a gasp of fear, pressing back as far away from America as she can get in the room. To someone who has never seen anything like this, it looks like the girl is about to explode-- and Romanov has no intention of that happening. "You better take a deep breath, girl," she says evenly, taking a step towards America, weighing her options, weighing the possibilities-- as Clint has said he calls it, looking for angles. She stands on the balls of her feet, ready to spring, her hands moving up, ready to strike. Or from the slight gleam of metal underneath the cuffs of her leather jacket, shoot. America isn't phased even by that glint of metal, or the nurse cowering in fear. Her eyes have returned to normal as she risks a glance over her shoulder toward the woman to offer with a smirk, "Watch your step." Natasha stepping forward earns her attention back and though she'd been angry and even frustrated before now she was smug and in her element from having flexed her powers, and reassured herself they were intact. "I'm leaving in style, chica. Try it some time." But then Natasha did the wrong thing--She stepped onto the star still lit on the floor. Only she would find herself falling as the ground was not there. America's hand snaps out to grab Natasha by her arm catching her before she goes all the way through though it brings them closer than before. Meeting her gaze she says levely, "You don't want to do that." Natasha lifts a brow, glancing down and then back at America, weighing her options. That she couldn't really feel friction under her feet is slightly nerve-wracking, but she's dealt with worse. "Style, da?" she manages, flexing her hand slightly-- America's grip is stronger than she expected. "You really don't know what I'm capable of do you." America just gives a shrug, and then... releases her hold on Natasha. With a sigh she rolls her eyes upward muttering, "Adults." Which she was now one of herself... and so she lets herself drop through as well. It's not like falling through from one floor to another. It's like falling through everything, every choice, every possibility, every reality until. Until possibility becomes reality and it solidifies thrusting Natasha out into a world far, far from where they had left. It appeared to be a city that was either a warzone, or recently was, and America lands beside her soon after. A lesser being would have been gibbering in fear from the fall. But Natasha Romanova survived the Red Room. That isn't to say she took the fall easily-- not at all. But she learned to control fear long ago, and when they hit the ground, she lands agily, eyes already scanning the area, arms raised and . Manhattan. But not the Manhattan she was used to; no, this city was missing a few vital parts-- and worse, some of those parts had been replaced by structures alien in form. "This does not look good," Natasha says, her eyes flitting over to America for a moment, and then back to scanning for potential trouble. "No. No it's not," America agrees while she stands, and turns, watching the area with a far too serious expression. The fact that they were OFF the carrier was good but she was used to traveling and Natasha wasn't. "This is a Mayfly dimension. Looks like one where Noh-Varr managed to turn this the Kree homeworld... Or at least got this city." This is said as she looks back toward Natasha with an eyebrow raised. "Welcome to the multiverse, chica. Let's find somewhere safe and I'll get us back to our world. So long as you promise not to keep trying to use me as a guinea pig." It might be easier said than done however. Footsteps are heard and the crumbling crunch of debris beneath feet as a few figures start over a partially collapsed wall staring at them. They're eerie sorts, women dressed head to toe in leather. Even their faces were covered and only vibrantly colored ponytails sticking out the top helped to differentiate them from one another. "Look, girls, company. It's been awhile." Natasha isn't exactly a multiverse frequent flier, so she defers to America as to whether or not they should shoot first and as questions later. But from her stance and the dead, emotionless expression on her face, it's pretty clear that shooting first would be her choice. "Not these putas," America mutters with a scowl of annoyance. Before she has time to properly explain, or even give a warning, the BDSM rejects pull out various weapons from katanas to staffs to even a battle axe of sorts. With whooping laughs they trio launch themselves toward Natasha, and America, intent on killing by all appearances. Natasha doesn't hesitate. Bullets tatter the cuffs of her leather jacket as they pour from her wristguns at the incoming targets, and she dodges to the side to make herself a more mobile target. "I never did like Kree," she says coolly, sizing up their opponents. The one with the katana moves fast-- faster than Natasha expects, that for sure, deflecting the bulletstorm with the blade. The second dodges left, swinging her battleaxe as she launches herself at America, cackling wildly. The third holds back for a moment, but then moves in, trying to separate the two women by putting herself and her staff between them. Divide and conquer is a pretty good strategy. Usually. America was quick herself which is a good thing as she dodges that axe swinging toward her. Her arm snaps up to grab for the handle trying to snatch it away, but her opponent is equally strong, and skilled, and perhaps a bit more flexible than she is. She ends up with a boot in the stomach and she doubles over grabbing instead for the woman's leg. Wrapping hands around it firmly she swings her around using the Kree assasin herself as a bludgen to try swipe at the one attempting to seperate her from Natasha. Nat doesn't have true super-human strength or super-human agility, but the super-soldier serum the Russians pumped into her veins comes damned close enough. She leaps over the low sweep from the staff, still focused and firing at katana-kree, who continues to move her blade quickly, batting away the bullets. Natasha swears under her breath in her native tongue, and in a quick move, crosses her wrists together as she dodges a swing of the blade at her skull. She's fast, but these kree are fast as well. A few strands of red hair fall to the ground as Natasha dives into a roll, coming back up... separated from America. Great. Staff-kree drives the staff towards America, seeing that her ploy has worked. Axe-kree... well, she lets out a wild whoop as America whips her around towards her staff-wielding ally, who barely dodges being hit by her friend. The noise, between the bullets and the wild cries of the trio of BDSM rejects, is bound to draw further attention. America was usually okay in these situations at least until she got ganged up on. It was inevitable, usually, as she was the one that could handle being ganged up on. Though she makes a good swipe at the staff-weilding Kree but that staff dodges out catching her right in the face sending her head snapping back in the process. It might take a bit to get her skin to break, but cutting her lip on her own tooth was one surefire way to do it. Blood drips down her jaw and she looks none-too-pleased as she releases Axe-Kree letting her fly out high and not caring where she may land. It wasn't her problem anymore. "Nat, vamanos!" she calls out as she takes one forward lunge to punch at the staff weilder. "Nyet, otrod'ye!" Natasha replies, bringing her stings to bear on katana again. This time, the ordinance is not bullet-- those are limited in supply anyway, and obviously not working-- but electric shots of around 30,000 volts being batted away by a metal sword with a metal grip... well, that's going to give anyone a bad time. And it does, as she shoots a barrage at katana-kree, who takes the bait and gets a few shocks as a reward, blasting her backwards and into unconciousness. But the noise has drawn friends of the BDSM crew-- three more, and coming up behind the Widow. Staff-kree looks pleased at the damage she's inflicted on America, and whips her staff around again for another strike. "Enough of this," America mutters. When the staff comes at her again she catches it in one hand flashing a very malicious grin at the woman. The hand not holding the staff pulls back to slam into the woman's masked face with enough force that bone could easily break even for someone as strong as her. Or at least it would knock her out if nothing else. "Behind you!" she calls out as the staff weilder is thrown aside. It was flashy before when she summoned that other dimensional portal, but this time it's quick and the glowing star is thrown against the wall of a nearby half-building. Her head tips toward it as she calls out, "Quit playing and come on!" Natasha doesn't have to be told twice-- she bolts, moving towards the glowing star on the wall, reaching back to fire off a few more bites of electricity at the newcomers. Electricity does very well it seems as the Kree howl with pain and crumple. America makes it to the wall first flat out running and she punches it causing that same shattering sensation/noise. She races through and it remains open long enough to allow Natasha through as well. Then with a slam she cuts the power to the portal ensuring they won't be followed. It was a far safer place they come out in. Regular old Manhattan. Regular old, busy, noisy, traffic-filled Manhattan on the side of a busy street near an old-fashioned greasy spoon diner. America doubles over catching her hands on her knees as she gasps for breath feeling far, far more winded than she usually does when jumping dimensions. "Okay. Okay. So. Fuck that. Hate that world," she mutters before asking quietly, "You okay?" Natasha takes a moment to realize they are back in their own world, but when she does, she leans against the building side, holding herself up with an arm. "...da, fine, fine." She leans there for a moment, catching her breath. Then she actually smiles. "That was fun." She looks up at America, and then reaches inside her leather jacket, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping away the trickle of blood on America's chin. "Well, I supposed that is one way to get blood sample," she deadpans. America lifts an eyebrow at Natasha only to roll her eyes when the handkerchief comes out to swab the blood away. "Yeah, tends to happen when I get beat on, not much otherwise. By the way," she adds as she reaches up to pinch at the sleeve of her hoodie holding it away from her arm. There's a torn hole in it which she glares at Natasha over. "Might want to be careful with the bullets. You got me with a stray," she states in her own deadpan. Natasha gives America a chilly smile. "Well. We cannot all have perfect aim, mm?" America snorts faintly, "Don't look at me, I don't do the aim... Oh you meant him." It took her a moment to get that. Frowning at her own slow thought process she glances down to her hand a moment simply staring at it. Then she lifts it and rubs at her chin swiping off any remaining blood. "Okay. Now I'm not feeling so hot." Natasha looks concerned. "What is wrong?" "Just... feel..." America trails off only to whirl away slamming her hand into the wall of the building she stood beside catching herself before she doubles over completely. She does remain partially bent forward though as she begins to gag, and then throw up while her free hand clutches at her stomach. Clearly she wasn't feeling that well at this point. Natasha looks around, then asks quickly, "Do we need to get you anywhere?" Besides back to the helicarrier obviously. "Tony. Get... to..." Hurk. America clenches her hand which, unfortunately, digs rivets into the brick of the wall she leans against as it crumbles beneath her hand. It would be bad for her to be touching someone when that happened but the wall was far less fortunate. "Or... just the Academy. Have a room there." Several deep breaths are taken, and she risks standing up looking pale and uncomfortable. "I don't do being locked up." Natasha pulls out her phone, fires off a text, and then is there putting an arm under the younger girl's shoulder to help support her. "Let's get to Tony, then. You're better off there than in the dorms."